


Meet Me In The Morning

by harborshore



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-24
Updated: 2012-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-31 16:12:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harborshore/pseuds/harborshore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil isn’t worried. Really, he isn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meet Me In The Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [torakowalski](https://archiveofourown.org/users/torakowalski/gifts).



> The title is Bob Dylan's.

Phil isn’t worried. Really, he isn’t. 

It’s just that they were due to return six hours ago.

He slides his phone open and types in the right sequence. “Any news on the Avengers?”

“Not since the last time you asked, which was all of twenty minutes ago,” Agent Carter says, voice brisk and professional. Then she sighs. “I realize it’s hard not to be their handler on this one, but really, Phil, Steve is--”

“I know,” Phil says. He does know. He broke three bones in his foot on the last mission, and he’s stuck at headquarters until further notice (until Fury unbends and lets him out, that is), and Captain America is nothing if not capable of running a mission with only incidental help from the S.H.I.E.L.D.-appointed handler.

Nonetheless. 

“Please let me know when they report back,” he says, and doesn’t wait for her agreement to end the call.

He isn’t worried. Not really.

He falls asleep at his desk, which he hasn’t done in years (he blames the painkillers). 

Which is why Clint is able to get the drop on him and which is also why Phil nearly shoots him when he wakes up to Clint’s face three inches from his.

“Don’t--don’t _do_ that,” he says.

Clint looks faintly apologetic, but it disappears quickly. “You fell asleep at your desk again. Coulson, were you worried?”

Phil blames the painkillers and just having woken up for the fact that he doesn’t manage to hide it in time. 

Clint starts to grin. “Aww, Coulson, that’s so sweet! I knew there was a human buried under all that bureaucracy.”

“Get off my desk,” Phil says, trying very hard to sound stern but he suspects he’s closer to fond. 

“Nope,” Clint says. “I have to report. To you.”

He doesn’t. He’s technically supposed to fill in the form by himself, but he never does, and Phil has stopped insisting.

“You don’t have to report from my desk,” he says instead. “There’s a perfectly serviceable chair right there.”

“But I like being close to you,” Clint says, and he isn’t batting his eyelashes, but he comes close. “It makes me feel all fuzzy inside.” 

Phil grits his teeth a little. Normally he doesn’t mind, but right now, when he’s spent hours knowing exactly where the Avengers were and why, and just how much he couldn’t do anything if it all went pear-shaped, right now he can’t really take the banter.

He can’t tell Clint why, either.

“Yes, well, I like my desk without sweat on it,” he says. “You’re supposed to be a sniper, Barton, leave the martial arts to Natasha and Steve, won’t you?” One being so good at fighting that she could take down a tank and the other who is basically invulnerable.

“We had some issues,” Clint says vaguely. “My position was compromised, you know how it is.”

Phil does. “Get on the chair, and tell me what happened. And then I want you to go home and sleep.”

“On one condition,” Clint says, and really, Phil should ignore that, but sometimes letting Clint dictate terms makes things go faster.

“Do tell,” he says. 

“You have to come with me and have breakfast when we’re done here,” Clint says, and there’s something odd in his voice.

“Is that--” Phil starts, because S.H.I.E.L.D. have a cafeteria and Phil has work to do.

Clint shakes his head. “Come on,” he says, and he doesn’t add any of his customary threats of sabotaging reports or burning down the filing cabinets. “I want you to have breakfast with me.”

“I, okay,” Phil says. 

He didn’t mean to say that. Clint has a tendency to get him to do things he didn’t mean to do. 

“Are you sure?” he says, because he sort of thinks Clint isn’t just asking about breakfast.

“Yes,” Clint says patiently. “Coffee, bagels, you, me. It’ll be great. We’ll fight over the paper and you can help me with the crossword.”

“As long as I can do the sudoku,” Phil says, and it’s a little hard to breathe. 

“You can do all the sudokus,” Clint says, and his smile is bright.


End file.
